


Getting You Back Again

by shadowhostage (thenakednymph)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gwen-in childbirth, M/M, Original Character - Freeform, WIP, merlin can't play music, minor previous character death?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/shadowhostage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being kicked out of Camelot for five years Arthur goes looking for Merlin only to find he now has a daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shit! I changed tense! Gods I never even noticed. I will try to get that changed as quickly as possible. Last chapter is in the works. It's sort of a pseudo epilogue before the real epilogue.
> 
> Edit: OKAY, hopefully everything is back in order. Gods my fingers hurt. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. We're almost done! 
> 
> Also...there may or may not by a porny version of Merlin explaining the scars on his stomach. It is TERRIBLE but if enough people want to scar themselves reading it I may post it instead of the non porny one. It's up to you.

There was a high pealing giggle, the kind only a child can make, coming from a camp set back from the road, hidden in a circle of trees. Merlin held the child in his lap, forming a careful balance between her and a worn mandolin. 

He struck an off chord and the instrument groaned as the high twang bounced into the night, drawing another giggle from the girl.  


“No,” she chided playfully, laughter still in her voice. “Like this.” She rearranged his hands for the third time with a slow patience, guiding him carefully through the song, but Merlin’s fingers kept slipping on the strings. She smothered another laugh as Merlin fumbled the same chord again.  


“It isn’t funny,” he scolded, but there was a smile on his lips. It was good to hear her laugh. “I just have potato fingers when it comes to music,” he complained.  


“You’ll never get better if you don’t practice.” A phrase Merlin had said to her a hundred times, so he put his fingers to the instrument again and managed to make it all the way through. It wasn’t pretty, but it was a start and the girl bounced up and down, clapping her hands and grinning widely at his small achievement.  


“You did it,” she praised and Merlin felt warm all over, glowing in her praise, but he was hungry and decided that was enough practice, so he passed her the instrument.  


“Your turn.”  


“Aw, but you just started,” she pouted, her smile fading. She stuck out her lower lip and pulled her best begging face.  
He mirrored her expression and batted his eyelashes. When that didn’t work he resorted to actual begging. “Please Wen? I don’t play half as well as you and I’d like to hear music while I make supper.”  
She gave him a stern look. “All right,” she said slowly, “but only if you promise to practice for two hours tomorrow.”  


“Two?” he cried. He saw the determined look on her face and lifted a finger. There was no way he was getting out of this without at least some time on the mandolin; as much as he hated it.  


“One,” he argued.  


“One and a half.”  


Merlin winced but held out his pinkie. “Done.”  


She wrapped her own little finger around his and took the instrument, cradling it to her chest as she hopped down from his knee.  


“Hey.” Merlin leaned forward, tapping his cheek where she planted a quick kiss with another giggle, taking Merlin’s place on the log as he stood, tuning the mandolin even though they’d just done it.  


Merlin stretched out the kinks he’d worked up sitting for so long and walked over to the wagon, pulling some dried apples from one of their bags along with half a loaf of bread and some hard, sharp cheese. He cut a few slices of bread and a little of the cheese for each of them, setting the slices by the fire to warm along with the apples.  


As Wen played he drew water from one of their barrels and set it in a kettle to warm over the fire, feeding it a little magic to boil more quickly. Merlin hummed along with Wen as she sang softly in her child’s soprano, enjoying the serenade as he went about making them a nice stew for dinner. As the water heated he went out and checked the snares he’d set earlier, taking the rabbit one had caught and cleaned it, burying the remains and washing his hands before dropping the diced meat into the boiling water along with some sliced vegetables and a handful of herbs.  


While the stew cooked, Merlin collected the apples and bread, setting Wen’s piece on the log next to her and sinking to the ground, letting his head fall back and his eyes slide closed, the warmth from the fire washing over him. Wen’s voice always lulled him into a peaceful state of mind and he’d grown used to her playing. She was an exquisite musician, especially for one so young, so it caught him by surprise when her fingers slipped, the note hard and grating. He twisted his head around to look at her, about to ask what was wrong when her sharp eyes flicked to a spot across the fire between the trees.  


Merlin followed her line of sight and as she continued to play a figure stepped into the ring of light from their campfire.  


“Hullo in the camp!” the figure called, lifting a hand in greeting. Merlin stayed sitting, offering no greeting in return. They weren’t in a bad area, but he’d grown distrustful of strangers over the years, especially strangers who showed up in the night when they were supposed to be miles from civilization, the only road old and disused, full of rocks and holes that had jarred the wagon and made for slow going.  
The man’s smile faltered and Merlin’s less than warm welcome and he cleared his throat. “I saw your fire through the trees,” he explained, 

“Thought you might be willing to share it for the night. Maybe a bite to eat?” he asked hopefully. His eyes flickered to the fire. “It looks to be a cold night,” he went on when Merlin said nothing.  


He was right. It was already late autumn. Frost hadn’t started to collect on the ground yet in the early morning, but it wouldn’t be much longer. A night without a fire wouldn’t kill the man, but it would certainly be unpleasant and Merlin knew what it was like to spend a night out in the cold.  


He held the man’s gaze for a moment, watching him shift uncomfortable as the silence wore on before finally making up his mind. “Of course.” His tone was polite, but not gracious as he gestured to a spot across from the fire and the man came closer, settling on the ground 

and stretching his hands towards the heat with a pleasant moan.  


“Stew’s almost ready if you don’t mind waiting.” Merlin rose to his feet, heading towards the wagon resting at his back. “Let me get you a blanket.” He pulled a worn blanket from inside the wagon and walked it over to the man, handing it to him. It was old and moth eaten, but it was wool and would keep him warm.  


“I’m afraid it’s not much, but it’s better than nothing and will help fight off the chill.”  


The man nodded gratefully, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and smiling at Wen. “You play very well,” he said.  


Wen glanced at him dismissively before looking back at her strings.  


The man coughed awkwardly and shifted his attention back to Merlin. “So what are you folks doing out here? Rare to see anyone in these parts.”  


“You live out here then?” Merlin deflected, poking at the stew with a ladle.  


“Nah, just passing through.”  


Merlin looked at him over the fire. “So how do you know travelers are so uncommon?”  
Each held the gaze of the other for a long moment, Wen still playing slowly. She’d shifted to a new song, a sad ballad about a hero who dies for love in the end, but she’d stopped singing. The stranger’s smile shifted and he let the blanket fall from his shoulders. “Well damn; looks like you caught me.” The blanket fell to the ground as he stood, his movements languid, his smile easy, but a blade flashed in his hand, pulled from his sleeve.  


“No one needs to get hurt here, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to alleviate you of that wagon,” he gestured with the knife, “the two horses, and any other valuables you might have on you.” His demeanor was polite but there was a sharpness to his eyes that left no doubt in Merlin’s mind as to what might happen if he refused; and he planned to refuse.  


Merlin stood slowly, his expression smooth, his posture relaxed, and he shook his fingers out carefully, stretching them. They were still cramped and sore from playing earlier. He stared at the stranger as Wen continued to play, perfectly at ease with the situation, confident in Merlin’s ability to protect her. Merlin leveled his gaze at the man and said very firmly, “no.”  


The man threw his head back and laughed. “No?” he echoed. “Well aren’t you the brash one?” His smile turned sharp as glass around the edges and his posture shifted. “You sure you don’t want to change your mind? I think you’re a little outnumbered. Unless you want to try and fight all of us off by yourself.”  


Merlin’s eyes caught movement seconds before several more figures stepped through the trees, seven of them in all; close enough the fire’s light caught on their features as Merlin could make out an assortment of scars and leering expressions as they formed a tight circle around the camp.  


“Your valuables,” the bandit demanded, “or I gut the girl and restring the lute with her guts.” He was polite as could be, but that only made Merlin more uncomfortable with the idea of fighting him or any of the others. One or all of them could be mages or warlocks, it was impossible to tell.  


Merlin’s nostrils flared as he mind whirled to find a way out. It had taken him months of hard work to acquire what little they had and he hated to just leave it all behind and run, or worse just hand it over, but if he and Wen were to get out alive he might have to.  
“Mandolin.” Every eye turned to Wen, still sitting on the log, her fingers moving deftly over the strings, her eyes following the movement to keep from slipping.  


“What?” the bandit snapped, clearly irritated, his gaze shifting away from Merlin.  


“It’s a mandolin,” she clarified, “not a lute.” She came to the end of the song, the notes hanging in the air until they died before easing the instrument back in its case.  


Merlin seized the opportunity Wen had just provided and his eyes flashed gold as the fire, a wave of air rushing forward like a wall, knocking the bandit Merlin assumed to be the leader back a few paces along with a few of the others closest to him. Moments later several things happened at once: Wen took the chance to bolt, heading for the wagon and hopefully cover as Merlin threw out his hands, a column of flame wider than a man shooting into the sky from the fire with a deafening roar, the horses screaming in fright as Wen scrambled into the wagon, one of the bandits right behind her.  


Shouts filled the darkness followed by the hiss of weapons being drawn from all around. The light from the fire was blinding but Merlin could see he was completely surrounded. He hadn’t thought there were that many. More of them must have been standing in the dark, just out of sight; waiting.  


He threw out his hands and bolts of fire shot off from the main column, striking several bandits and the night air turned sick with scent of burning hair and charred flesh. There was a clash of steel, the sound a sharp pivot to the dull roar of the wind whipping about them and something hard struck Merlin across the back of the head, dropping him to the ground in a heap.  


The fire died down, leaving him half blind in the sudden dark, the coals a wavering orange in his vision. He heard Wen scream somewhere behind him but the sound was muted and distant.  


“Don’t hurt her,” he tried to say, but it came out a slurred garble and he tasted dirt and blood, panic sharpening his thoughts for a brief moment as he thought he’d bitten through his own tongue.  


Feet were stomping all over the camp, stirring up smoke and ash, Camelot red swirling around polished steel that didn’t belong to any thief of bandit and then all was quiet. Even the fire was nothing but coals.  


“Don’t you touch him,” Wen snarled and there was a cry of pain followed by a low curse and Merlin tried to stand, but he couldn’t get the earth to stop moving under his feet. His vision narrowed to a head a golden hair and blue eyes before he knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. I meant to mark this work as a WIP when I first posted it, so here's chapter 2 in apology. I hope you still enjoy it. :)

The wagon rolled over a stone, jarring Gwenddyn from sleep. She quickly checked on Merlin, making sure the jolt hadn’t displaced him, tucking his arms, more from something to do than any real necessity.

She pushed his dark hair back from his face, smoothing the blanket over him before tucking her legs beneath her, making herself comfortable beside him, staring down at his prone form with a distant kind of sadness. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but it had been three days since the attack on their camp and she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.

She darted a glance around the inside of the wagon she’d come to call home, glaring at the back of the big man driving it, his broad back swaying in and out of sight through the curtain, but nothing seemed out of place. Good. So no one had been inside while she’d slept. It wouldn’t happen again. She didn’t trust them. They’d said they were knights, that they only wanted to help, but she’d heard that before. The only one she trusted was Merlin and he still hadn’t woken up.

Squeezing his hand she traced the silver-white rune with her thumb: Eolh. It was supposed to protect him. She glared at it, angry at whatever gods there might be for letting this happen. Still, she traced it repetitively and hoped he’d wake soon. She didn’t know what she’d do without him. Would she get to keep the wagon or would that be taken from her too?

The door at the back clanged open, the old wood rattling against the side of the wagon as it moved, the hinges squeaking. Merlin was supposed to oil those weeks ago. The door had swung wide with enough force it was a wonder the little glass window hadn’t broken. She glared at the knight who stepped inside and considered stabbing him while he was blind, his eyes adjusting from the light outside to the gloom of the wagon’s interior. Instead she stared at him, watching as he fumbled about, trying to keep his balance, more used to being astride a horse than in something as slow and lumbering as a wagon.

His eyes found her and he smiled in greeting, one hand braced against the wall for support. He pulled the door shut behind him, careful to make sure it was secured before sliding to the floor to keep from falling over. He sat as far away from her and Merlin as was possible in the cramped space, trying to set her at ease and she hated him for it.

“How’s he doing?”

Wen ignored him and went back to tracing the symbol, a sour look on her face, the tip of the knife she’d stolen back from the big knight who’d taken it earlier, poking out just past the tips of her fingers.

When they’d first been attacked she’d taken the knife from the wagon and had tried to defend Merlin as the knights closed in on him, but the big oaf had caught her up in his arms and wrenched it out of her hands. Now he was driving their wagon. She hated them all.  
Still, it had been three days and no one had touched her. They’d even stopped trying to bother her as she cared for Merlin; except for the blonde one, Arthur she thought his name was. He was persistent as a hound on a fox and she regretted not stabbing him earlier when she had the chance. Maybe if she killed him she could sneak up on the knight driving the wagon and drive away, Merlin safe in the back and everything would just go back to the way it was before.

Her thoughts snapped back around as fast as a willow switch when Arthur pulled his own knife free with a sigh, the blade almost the length of his forearm, glittering in the dark. Steel, not like the brittle iron of her own little knife and she felt woefully defenseless.  
Wen stiffened, the blade between her fingers flicking into full view. He hadn’t openly threatened her or Merlin yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time, she just knew it.

Arthur turned the knife around, holding it by the blade and extended the handle towards her and she stared at it dumbly. He could carve her up like a hog with a knife like that and she broke out in a cold sweat, her eyes darting around for some kind of weapon.

“If you’re going to protect him you’ll need something a little bigger than that.” Arthur gestured towards Merlin with the knife and it took Wen a moment to understand what he was saying. He wasn’t threatening her? “It may be a little heavy for you,” he continued, oblivious to her inner panic, “but you’ll grow into it.”

It was a trick. It had to be. Her eyes narrowed.

Arthur lowered his voice and looked at her, his gaze intent, his voice coaxing. “I promise,” he said slowly, “I’m not going to hurt him. He’s my friend.”

Wen bit her lip. She didn’t trust him, she didn’t want to trust him, but there was a kindness in his eyes that reminded her of Merlin, gentle and patient and her heart squeezed in her chest at the memory. And it would be nice to have a sturdy blade for once.

She reached forward, the movement hesitant, her eyes darting between the knife and Arthur as if waiting for him to lash out, but finally she wrapped her fingers around the hilt, taking it carefully. Arthur smiled and Wen ducked her head almost shyly but didn’t return the smile. 

“Do you think you could get him to drink something?”

Wen looked down at Merlin, stroking his hair idly and nodded. Arthur moved slowly, not wanting to startle her, but also not wanting to lose his balance in the rocking wagon. They hit a bump and his teeth clacked together, nearly taking off the tip of his tongue.

“Is it all right if I sit down?” He eyed the knife in her hand, sure he could disarm her if necessary, but not sure he was willing to lose whatever tentative progress he’d just made over a misunderstanding or a wrong step. He’d seen her with that little pig sticker she’d wielded earlier. Gwaine was still angry about the cut he’d taken to the arm when he’d bent to check on Merlin before Percival had managed to catch her. She was fast and slippery as an eel.

Wen pursed her lips but eventually nodded, allowing him to sit by Merlin’s feet, her hand still tight around the knife, the tip pointed at his chest. Good girl.

He pulled some kind of a skein from under his cloak and held it out for her inspection. “It’s just some broth,” he explained as she uncorked it and took a suspicious sniff, her stomach growling loudly as she took a small sip, no more, corking the skein and setting it on her lap to wait, her eyes resting firmly on Arthur.

They’d formed a kind of quiet ritual over the past few days. Arthur would bring the food and water, she would sip it and after a few minutes she would try to get Merlin to swallow whatever it was without comment. It had taken Arthur almost a day and a half to realize she was checking it for poison. He’d spent the next few hours trying to convince her none of the food was or ever would be poisoned, that Merlin was a trusted friend and ally, but she was having none of it and continued her pattern.

Not that it bothered him; it seemed to be the only food she was willing to eat. She was as pale and drawn as Merlin, refusing both food and sleep since they’d started back to Camelot. He’d tried to stay in the wagon several times, offering to watch over Merlin while she slept, but she always refused. Not in so many words, but she would stare at him, angry and restless until he went away. Her hair was tousled though and she looked bright eyed and he assumed she’d managed some kind of sleep in the hours since he’d left her alone. Or at least he hoped so. If it kept up any longer she would be the one that needed looking after.

Once sure the broth wasn’t going to kill Merlin Wen tried to tip the skein to his lips, but the rolling of the wagon made it difficult and she spilled some over his chest and neck, frowning in displeasure. Arthur moved to help and Wen turned the knife on him, quick as a snake. He froze, arm still outstretched, praying he wouldn’t fall and startle her into stabbing him.

“I was only going to prop him up so he doesn’t choke,” he explained, breath tight in his chest. That seemed to satisfy her after a few moments and she lowered the knife, setting it to the side but still within easy reach.

Arthur moved closer, helping her pull Merlin upright, sitting behind him and bracing Merlin’s back, holding his head steady while Wen lifted the skein to his mouth. Merlin sputtered and coughed, but swallowed and a flicker of a smile passed over Wen’s face for a brief moment before being swallowed by concern. The smile made her look years younger. With the way she held herself it was easy to forget she was just a child.

She tipped more broth into his mouth and Merlin choked. Arthur tilted his head and murmured softly.

“Easy,” he soothed, wiping away the spilled broth on his jaw nodding at Wen to try again. Merlin settled and Wen managed to get another mouthful into him. They made quite the mess, but together Arthur and Gwenddyn managed to get Merlin to swallow almost all of the broth and he settled back into a peaceful sleep.

Arthur made to stand but Wen made a motion with her hand that stilled him. She set the empty skein aside and pulled a tunic from a bag on the other side of the wagon; a rough homespun dyed a muddy brown. She mimed pulling a shirt off over her head and Arthur nodded in understanding.

Wrapping one arm around Merlin’s waist Arthur tipped him forward and he and Wen managed to pull the broth soaked tunic up over Merlin’s head. Wen tossed it aside and wiped away the damp on his skin with a cloth before dropping the fresh tunic over his head with practiced care.

The light flickered over Merlin’s back and arms as the wagon rolled forward at a steady pace, the light catching on the silver-white scars across his shoulders and upper back. Some were similar to the one on his hand, their design simple and straightforward, others far more complex, twisting patterns and curls Arthur didn’t recognize and he stared at them. Merlin hadn’t had those when he’d left.

They were decorative, lovely in a way and Arthur wondered where he’d gotten them, but then Wen was pulling the homespun tunic down over Merlin’s arms and back, covering them from sight. She frowned at him like she knew he’d been staring and Arthur looked away, helping lay Merlin back down on the bed where Wen carefully tucked him in.

When they were done she shooed Arthur out the wagon, closing the door firmly in his face while he was still standing precariously on the narrow stairs, effectively sealing him out until Merlin's next meal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY new chapter. I finally worked out what I didn't like about it, so the updates should be coming a little more quickly now that we're past this part. Enjoy.
> 
> Seriously, if you ever find spelling mistakes or have difficulty reading do to formatting PLEASE let me know. As an avid fanfic reader both of these things drive me nuts. I swear I want to know.

Whispering. There were voices, murmuring just a few feet away, too low for Merlin to hear through the buzzing in his ears. He was stiff and sore in a way only traveling in the wagon could make him, but he didn’t remember the trip. His eyes felt gritty and his head was throbbing.  


“Wen…” he rasped, the name catching in his throat. The sheets rustled around him as he moved and the voices stuttered to a stop.  


Merlin swallowed, his dry throat clicking as he tried to form words. He opened his eyes but twisted away in pain when the candlelight in the room seared into his eyes, pain lancing hard through his head and leaving him aching and sick, his body flushed.  


“I’m sorry, does that hurt your eyes?” a voice asked, soft and low and Merlin heard a rush of breath and smelled smoke in the air, the room going dark.  


Merlin carefully opened his eyes, blinking away the pain and spots behind them before looked around. He felt nauseated.  


“Gwend…” he tried again. “Where’s-”  


“Gwen?” the voice echoed, a warm hand finding his. “Merlin,” hesitation, “she’s dead.”  


Merlin jerked at the news, dragging on the hand in his as his throat closed, tears springing to his eyes. “No.” He shook his head in denial, the bed dropping out beneath him and his skull cleaving open leaving his brains to splatter all over the pillow, guilt leaving him cold. He groaned and covered his eyes with that hand that wasn’t clutching desperately at this stranger’s like a lifeline, Gwenddyn’s name caught between his tongue and teeth.  


“Wen.” The nickname hung mournfully in the air, broken and pained, followed by a quiet sob.  


“Two years ago,” the voice went on and Merlin turned his head, not understanding through the haze of pain, his tears wetting the pillow.  


Gwenddyn walked into the room before Merlin could form any of the hundred questions buzzing inside his skull and a wave of relief washed over him so quickly it left him cold and he made a low mewling sound, a sob wrenching from his throat as he reached for her.  


Wen carried a tray with a bowl of steaming broth, a glass of tea and the heel of some dark bread. She gasped seeing Merlin’s face and hurried to set the tray aside, cuffing Arthur across the back of the head like a mother might scold a child.  


Merlin reached for her, still crying, and she fell into his embrace, whispering to him in a language Arthur didn’t understand. Merlin pulled away and kissed her forehead over and over with cracked lips as she brushed away his tears, continuing to soothe him with strange words. He seemed to calm under her touch and she retrieved the tea, glaring at Arthur who looked as confused as Merlin felt.  


Gwenddyn helped steady Merlin’s hands as he drank, nearly choking in his haste to drink it all, making a face at the taste, but finishing it off anyway. When he was done she set the glass aside, poured another from the pot and crawled onto the bed tucking herself against Merlin’s side and staring at Arthur in a way that unnerved him. Certain she was real and not going anywhere Merlin wrapped his arms around her and allowed his thoughts to wander to what little he remembered before waking. Wen had been playing, a stranger entered the camp, fire, bandits and then blackness. And now he was here. Wherever here was.  


“What happened?” he asked, rubbing at his forehead, realizing it was swathed in bandages. He pulled his hand away expecting it to be covered in blood, but there was nothing.  


“Bandits,” Arthur explained. “They attacked your camp. One of them struck you across the head with a branch.” He dropped his eyes and twirled the ring on his finger. “You’ve been unconscious for days, but Gaius says you’ll be all right, that it’s just a concussion and you’re through the worst of it.”  


“Gaius?” Merlin looked around, finally realizing where he was. There were books everywhere, old tomes and scrolls, dusty bottles lining the shelves and covering a desk that hadn’t been there before but there was no mistaking it, even in the dark; this was the room he’d lived in while in Camelot. He was back.  


Merlin turned his eyes to the figure sitting beside the bed, squinting to make out the features in the dark. “Arthur?” he whispered, his voice light with something akin to fear. The last time they’d spoken hadn’t gone entirely well and had mostly consisted of Arthur threatening him at the point of a sword.  


Merlin glanced away, his heart pounding in his chest, looking everywhere but at Arthur who shifted in his chair, the wood creaking in the silence and they both flinched.  


“Where’s Gaius?” Merlin ran a hand idly over Gwenddyn’s hair, voice thin and tight, his eyes on the door.  


“Downstairs,” Arthur hedged.  


“Oh.” Merlin chewed on his lower lip. “He’s mad isn’t he.” Merlin knew enough of Gaius to not need an answer, but it was all he could think to ask. He’d been gone for five years. If Gaius wasn’t here, fawning all over seeing him again then he was furious and Merlin winced.  


“Well you didn’t even say goodbye.”  


“You didn’t exactly give me a choice,” Merlin snapped, his eyes darting up, hot and angry.  


Arthur dropped his head, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry.” He looked like he was going to say more, but then his lips formed a tight line, locking away whatever it might have been and Merlin found he was disappointed. Arthur twisted his hands back and forth, knotting and unknotting his fingers.  


“I was angry,” he confessed. “I’d just lost my sister and one of my closest friends.”  


“And instead of letting me in you chased me out with a sword.” Merlin’s tone was sharp. “Literally. I was your friend too.”  


Arthur hunkered lower in his chair, his fingers turning white and red as he wrung his hands, forcing the blood in and out of his fingers in turns. Merlin stared at him, the line of his mouth hard and unforgiving.  


Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “I was wrong.” He glanced up at Merlin through his hair and Merlin was surprised to see his eyes were wet. “You were my friend once,” Arthur said softly. “And I really need a friend right now.  


“I need your wisdom Merlin, if you’d be willing to give it. If,” he hesitated, “if you’d be willing to stay that is.” He ground his teeth, trying to remain expressionless as Merlin considered the offer, but each second that passed in silence was torture and as the seconds turned to minutes Arthur’s hope quickly turned to resigned despair. He took a deep breath and composed himself, disappointed and hurt, but not surprised by Merlin’s quiet refusal.  


“I understand,” he said as he stood, turning away, but Merlin’s fingers brushed against the back of his hand, startling him. Merlin withdrew from the touch quickly, but it was enough to lower Arthur back into his chair.  


They both shifted around and Merlin pulled Wen closer, neither willing to discuss whatever had just happened.  


“Who’s this?” Arthur gestured at Wen with his head, desperate to change the subject.  


“This is Wen; she’s my daughter.” Merlin was smiling down at her head and missed Arthur’s look of surprise.  


“You called her Gwen earlier,” he fumbled, unable to think of anything else to say.  


Gwenddyn was looking at her hands, practicing her scales and ignoring them both.  


“It is,” Merlin explained. “Her name’s Gwenddyn, after my sister. I call her Wen for short.”  


“But you’ve only been gone for five years.” Arthur trailed off, looking between them. “Isn’t she,” he gestured idly with one hand. “A little old?” he finally finished.  


Merlin smiled, looking down at the little girl next to him.  


“He found me.” Arthur visibly flinched when she spoke, thrown at hearing her speak for the first time since they’d met. He’d thought her mute.  


“She’s been my companion for several years now,” Merlin said, picking up where Wen had left off. “She takes good care of me.” He kissed the top of her head. “Even teaching me to play the mandolin.”  


“But you’re terrible with music,” Arthur laughed, the sound abrupt and awkward, but Wen smiled at him, a genuine smile of knowing and Arthur felt a little less out of place. Wen spoke before the silence could grow awkward again, turning her attention to Merlin.  


“Now that you’re awake you need to eat.” She sat up and pulled the tray closer, handing Merlin the bowl. Arthur opened his mouth to say something but Wen cut him off with a sharp look and a jab with her finger. “Food first, then more talking.”  


Merlin shared a quick smile with Arthur, drawing one up out of the other man and some small part of what they used to be seemed to fall back into place; at least for the moment.  


“You heard the lady,” Arthur said. Merlin looked desperately pale and had eaten little on the ride back to Camelot; only what Wen and Arthur had been able to force down his throat which had mostly consisted of thin broth and water. Wen scowled as he spoke and Arthur decided in that moment he did not want to make her angry.  


“Eat,” she ordered with as much force as a queen three times her age and Merlin obeyed, hiding a smile behind the edge of the bowl.  


When he was finished Wen took the tray downstairs, leaving Arthur and Merlin caught somewhere between what had once been and what might be again, neither knowing how to proceed.  


“Is Gwen as angry with me for leaving as Gaius is?” Merlin asked ruefully, trying to break the silence with something they had in common. “Is that why she isn’t here to scold me?” Arthur’s tentative smile fell, pain sharp in his eyes until he looked away and a chill settled in Merlin’s bones and he knew what Arthur was going to say even before he’d said it.  


“Gwen’s gone Merlin. She died two years ago.” Merlin’s lips parted and he stared at Arthur, his mouth working silently, his chest squeezing painfully.  


“How?”  


Arthur twisted his ring and stared at the floor. “Childbirth.”  


The wind left Merlin in a hiss and he sunk back into the pillows looking broken. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed and Arthur shrugged.  


Merlin sat forward, his movements heavy and slow as he reached for Arthur, resting a tentative hand on his arm, not sure if Arthur would welcome the contact. “It wasn’t your fault.”  


“Wasn’t it?” Arthur looked at Merlin from beneath his eyebrows.  


Merlin didn’t know what to say to that so he sat back. “And the child?” he finally ventured.  


Arthur seemed to age another five years at the question and Merlin regretted asking.  


“We lost it.” Arthur covered his face with a hand, his voice pinched. “I didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl,” he choked.  


Merlin wanted to help, to comfort, to speak words of wisdom to Arthur like he’d once done, but he was out of practice, the words catching in his throat; and the moment passed.  


Arthur scrubbed his face with his hands and gave a watery smile. He was trying so hard to hide his pain and it made Merlin’s heart ache. “You’re lucky you know? To have her.” He gestured at the door Gwenddyn had disappeared through.  


“She wouldn’t tell me her name when I first found her,” Merlin said wryly. “Took me a month just to get her to talk to me.” He looked at Arthur and tried to smile. “It’s been three years since I found her, half starved, wandering through this ravaged village.  


“I don’t know how long it had been, but the bones were still bleaching out in the sun, waves lapping at the pebbled beach. The place was completely empty.” He stared down at his lap, twining his fingers together. “She still won’t talk to be about what happened. It’s like she thinks I’ll think less of her if I know.” Merlin didn’t know why he was telling Arthur this just that it seemed right, like he needed to explain where he’d been, what he’d done during the time he’d been gone.  


“So I took her with me. She needed help and as bad off as I was I couldn’t just leave her there. After a few weeks of calling her ‘you’ and ‘hey girl’ I decided she needed a name. She still wouldn’t talk to me, but I listed off a few names. She seemed to take to Gwenddyn and it stuck. Fits her I guess.” He shrugged and fiddled with the sheets. “Gwenddyn Morgana Emrys.”  


Arthur looked up at him. “Morgana?” he asked softly, as if the word were a bruise that would hurt if spoken too loudly.  


Merlin nodded dumbly. “She’s um, a lot like her.” He shrugged again. “It seemed fitting.”  


They fell into another silence as Arthur scuffed his boots against the floor. He could hear Gaius and Wen talking faintly and the clatter of bowls and the tinkling of glass, but neither came up the stairs.  


“I miss her too,” Arthur finally confessed.  


“Why am I here?” Merlin asked softly.  


Moments later Gwenddyn walked in followed by Gaius, effectively cutting off any response Arthur might have made.  


“I’d like to speak with Merlin,” Gaius said slowly, his gaze shifting between Arthur and Wen who looked less than pleased, deliberately ignoring Merlin. Wen puffed up like a bird, ready to argue, but Merlin stepped in first speaking in that same strange language Arthur had heard Wen use before.  


“Hush little one, he will do me no harm.” Wen frowned but slunk from the room, casting a warning look at Gaius. Arthur nodded in understanding, and stood, practically running from the room.  


Gaius waited until the door shut before lowering himself into Arthur’s chair with a low groan. He looked thin and frail, his hands trembling in the folds of his robe and he’d brought a walking stick into the room with him.  


They sat in silence, Merlin wiping his sweaty palms against the sheets as Gaius tapped out a slow, patient rhythm with his thumbs, waiting. Merlin began clacking his teeth together, a nervous habit he’d picked up from Wen and been unable to shake, trying not to be nervous and making it worse.  


“Stop that,” Gaius snapped and Merlin visibly jumped. “It’s an appalling habit,” Gaius went on to mumble, looking away. Merlin caught his cheek between his teeth instead, chewing on it.  


He swallowed thickly, knotting the sheets in his hands. “Sorry,” he eventually whispered, his heart racing. He’d rather have faced Uther’s wrath a thousand times or been thrown in the stocks than face Gaius’ stern disapproval. He’d never been able to stand it. At least some things hadn’t changed.  


“For clacking your teeth or leaving?” Gaius’ tone was sharp and when Merlin met his gaze he saw just how much his departure had hurt the man who’d treated him like a son during his time in Camelot; and he’d up and left him without a word. Merlin flushed in shame and looked down.  


“Both,” he muttered, curling and uncurling his fists in the sheet. “I shouldn’t have left.”  


“Then why did you?” Gaius demanded. “Without a word Merlin. I just wake up one day and you’re gone. I was worried sick for months,” he scolded, his mouth working side to side. “Did you know, for the first year I thought you were dead? Arthur wouldn’t so much as speak your name and refused to talk to me about anything. Not even Gwen could console him.” His face clouded over in disappointment. “You abandoned him just when he needed you most.”  


“And what about me?” Merlin threw back. “All the time I’ve been in Camelot it’s always been all about Arthur, how’s Arthur dealing with the death of his father? How’s Arthur handling the responsibility of ruling an entire kingdom? Poor Arthur who’s lost a sister and been betrayed by an uncle. Well what about me?” he snapped feeling petulant, but too angry to care. “I lost my father too, I’m heir to a kingdom that no longer exists because of his father. By all rights we should hate each other.  


“I am magic itself and knowing that, knowing he hates the very thing that makes me who I am is terrifying. How was I supposed to just come out and tell him that?” Merlin winced and cradled his head, trying to will away the pain. His skull was throbbing and he clenched his jaw against it until his teeth ached and the sparks behind his eyelids receded.  


“There was so much I wanted to tell him,” he mumbled sadly, “and I tried, but every time I opened up he shut me out until he finally chased me away all together.”  


“And instead of facing that anger, which he was more than justified in having by the way, facing him, you ran away, too much of a coward to fight back,” Gaius scolded.  


Merlin flushed again but this time it was in anger. All the pent up rage and pain he’d felt over the years needed venting and it lashed out at the only other person in the room; Gaius.  


“I tried,” he hissed, each word dripping venom, “he wasn’t the only one who was hurting that day, who’d been hurting. I wanted to tell him I knew what he was going through, that I was hurting with him, that I loved Morgana as much as he did, that it was killing me to—” He couldn’t say poison her, but it hung in the air between them. “I risked everything that day, for him, to save him at the cost of his love for me.” The knowledge still ached, that he’d killed Morgana was one of the many things that would forever haunt him.  


“I’d tried so many times before to tell him about my magic and when I finally do tell him the truth, about everything, he points a sword at me and swears on his life if I ever set foot in Camelot again he’d kill me. What was I supposed to do?”  


“You were supposed to stay,” Gaius shouted, his own voice rising to match Merlin’s. “You’ve never listened to him before, why choose that moment Merlin? Why?”  


Merlin looked away, still angry, not sure what to say. “He was my friend.” His eyes burned and he scrubbed them with the heel of his hands, making his head feel warm and swollen.  


“And you were his.” Gaius stared at Merlin, some of the fire leaving his eyes. “He lost so much that day,” Gaius tried to soothe. “His sister, his men, his friends and so much before that. His mother, his father, Agravaine. Everyone he’s ever loved and trusted has betrayed him. Can you really blame Arthur for lashing out the way he did when he found out about your magic, about Morgana? That you, his best friend and closest confidant, the one person he thought could never betray him, had been lying to him ever since the day you met? That you would turn on his sister like a viper?”  


“I loved her,” Merlin cried, “I could have saved her Gaius, but I screwed it up. I did the right thing,” he protested, “I did, I know I did, because if I didn’t—” His eyes were wild.  


“Tell me I did the right thing Gaius, that it was the only way to save Arthur. I have to believe it was the right thing.” Merlin’s voice trembled and Gaius thought he could see a flicker of madness in the dark of Merlin’s eyes through the tears and it frightened him. The lengths Merlin had gone to for Arthur and still would should it be asked of him terrified Gaius. He needed to soothe Merlin, tell him it had been the right thing, but the words tasted bitter on his tongue.  


“Arthur was angry,” he said instead. “Of course he lashed out, but instead of being there to support him once the anger wore off like you were supposed to be, you just left.” Gaius shook his head. “I’m not trying to belittle everything you’ve been through Merlin, but you didn’t see what that knowledge did to him, knowing he’d chased you away; you the one person he thought he’d always be able to rely on. He would have forgiven you,” Gaius whispered. “It would have taken time, but he would have forgiven you.”  


Merlin ground his teeth and glared at the closest wall knowing Gaius was right and the knowledge chaffed, guilt sitting like poison in his stomach, eating him from the inside out. They both fell silent, Merlin’s blood burning, his heart aching with the memories he’d tried so hard to suppress over the years.  


“Well maybe I needed him just as much as he needed me,” he said. “I had no one to talk to about that, about any of it and the one man I wanted most to confide in refused me. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to have the closest person in your life turn you away just when you need them most?” he asked, his voice cracking.  


Gaius looked down at his lap, twirling his thumbs. “You still had me,” he said, his voice hurt. “And it was more than Arthur had.”  


Merlin struggled to sit up and reached for Gaius. “I know, but it wasn’t the same. I know I should have come to you but I was angry and hurting; blind with it and still reeling over everything that had happened.” He squeezed Gaius’ hand, his throat tight. “I guess confessing my magic to Arthur was the last straw.  


“I didn’t say goodbye to anyone Gaius. I just walked out of Camelot’s gates and didn’t stop and once my head cleared I was too scared and too embarrassed to come back.”  


“Why?”  


Merlin shook his head. “I don’t know.”  


“You didn’t really believe Arthur would kill you did you?”  


Merlin looked away, his face pale. “He’s a man of his word,” he finally said and it was true. Arthur always kept his promises, sometimes at risk to his own health, but no one could fault him for it, least of all Merlin; it was one of the things he admired about Arthur, one of many.  


They lapsed into a brief silence, Gaius cradling Merlin’s hand in both of his. “Were you ever going to come back?”  


Merlin’s fingers twitched in Gaius’ grip. “I don’t know.” He looked back at Gaius. What little light filtered in through the cloth they’d covered the window with was just enough to let him make out Gaius’ features. “I wanted to write,” Merlin went on, “send you a letter explaining everything, but I just couldn’t. I was running I guess. Everything reminded me of Arthur, of Morgana, and the war and all the ways I’d failed and it was just too much. I didn’t even go home. I wanted to, but Arthur was even there and I couldn’t bear it.  
“I wanted to just keep walking until I hit the southern sea.” He trailed off.  


“Would you have stopped then?” Gaius hesitated to ask, not sure he wanted to know the answer.  


“I don’t know, maybe; if I hadn’t found Wen. Or maybe she found me. Either way, someone had to take care of her. The point is I could have left but Arthur found us first.”  


Gaius hmm’d, nodding slowly, but he wondered. He needed to remember to thank the girl. Without her he doubted Merlin would have come back at all, even against his will.  


“Well, you sure picked a hell of a time to start listening to Arthur,” he chided gently giving Merlin’s hand an affectionate squeeze.  


Merlin looked abashed. “Can we just agree it was stupid? Another mistake in a mountain of them that day.” His eyes were pleading. “I missed you.”  


Gaius tried to look angry but eventually he smiled, distant and shy; he was afraid of being hurt again. Merlin knew the feeling.  


“It’s good to see you Merlin.” Gaius moved slowly to sit on the bed next to Merlin, his old bones aching, and wrapped him in a long overdue hug.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur closed the door softly behind him, standing on the stairs and surveying the main room laid out below. Sunlight dappled the stone floor, dust motes tinted gold floating through the air. It smelled of warm stone and herbs, some kind of acidic smell lingering under it all that Arthur couldn’t place but made him wrinkle his nose. Gwenddyn bustled around Gaius’ worn workbench, standing on a low stool, grinding and mixing herbs like she had every right to be there.

“There’s stew and bread over there,” she said without looking up. Her voice startled him out of his reverie. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring, but he also caught her accent for the first time. It was odd, warm, like summer and spiced wine. He didn’t recognize it and wondered where she was from, not for the first time.

Realizing he was hungry Arthur wandered over to the table and picked up a bowl and a slice of bread, carrying it over to the table. Wen had kept it warm for him and he smiled softly at her thoughtfulness. He stood across from her, watching as she took a pinch of some kind of powder and dropped it into the mixture without bothering to measure it, working the pestle steadily back and forth.

“What are you doing?” he asked, swallowing a mouthful of bread he’d dipped in the broth.

“Herblore.” She pointed out the potions she’d mixed or the herbs hanging up to dry as she spoke, her movements methodical and crisp. “Tea for Merlin to help with his concussion; passion flower and chamomile to promote restful sleep; turmeric reduces swelling; fennel and licorice root to dull pain.” She shrugged. “Gaius’ supply is low.” She glanced at Arthur from under her eyebrows.

“Merlin taught me.” She went back to grinding something in the mortar, her shoulders taunt, the dagger Arthur had given her resting on the table beside her well within reach.

“You don’t like me very much do you?”

Gwenddyn set the pestle aside and lifted the mortar, carrying it to another table, glancing back over her shoulder. “Nonsense,” she sniffed. “If I didn’t like you I would have poisoned you.” She looked pointedly at the bowl in Arthur’s hands and he had to fight to swallow. Still, he set the bowl aside, decided he wasn’t as hungry as he’d thought. Wen hid a smile, turning back to her work.

“I don’t trust you,” she went on, “there’s a difference.”

Arthur pulled a stool over so he could watch her work and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. “Gwen,” he asked, “how old are you?”

“Wen, not Gwen.”

“Wen,” he amended. “How old are you?”

She shrugged and wouldn’t look at him. “Old enough.”

“But you’re just a child. You should be out having fun, playing in the streets like other children, not sitting her combining fish scales and mountain root.”

Wen turned on him, her eyes flashing. “I stopped being a child when men like you came to my village on Beltane, claiming to be knights,” she snarled and Arthur was surprised by the venom in her voice. He hadn’t meant to upset her. “We invited them in, treated them as our guests, showed them hospitality and do you know what they did?” she demanded, surging forward before he had a chance to speak. “Halfway through the celebration one of the men took a liking to the miller’s daughter. He was told he couldn’t have her. So he beat her father and took her anyway, bending her over the feasting table for everyone to see, the others laughing and jeering, urging him on.” She pursed her lips, her nostrils flaring.

“I remember hearing her screaming, the other women crying, the angry shouts of the men, but our village was small. We were farmers and fishermen, not fit to fight knights; so we stood there and we watched. Others joined him, taking who they wanted when they wanted; even some of the young boys were taken away into the forest behind the village. We never saw them again but we could hear them crying.”

“Why didn’t anyone fight back?”

“We were farmers!” she shrieked, turning on him. “We could no more wield a sword than you could a plow.” Her lips thinned and she seethed, her hands shaking. She hadn’t meant to get into this, but now she couldn’t stop, the words tumbling out of her like water through a dam. Seeing the knights from Camelot brought it all raging back to the surface, all the memories she’d tried to forget, the nightmares and the fear and she lashed out the only way she could.

“They took my mother and my sister.” Her lips quivered, water collecting along her lower lashes and she swallowed thickly. “She was only thirteen.” Her anger broke and teas fell down her cheek as she spoke, unable to stop. “My mother struck one of the men and we tried to run. A few of us managed to get away, but by that time the men had taken what they wanted.” Her face crumpled and she hugged herself, looking at the floor, remembering. “I remember hiding in the trees, watching the bonfire light the night with red and orange, the tables around it painted with wine and blood.”

Her voice cracked and she stared through Arthur with hollow eyes, anger building from a pit inside her chest and she latched onto it, using it to scorch away the rest of her tears.

Arthur’s stomach turned over and he thought he might vomit up everything he’d just eaten.

“There were so few of us. The men were dead or dying, the women bleeding, the children who were still there too afraid to run. The knights rounded up the oldest of the boys, laughing and encouraging them to drink until they couldn’t stand up anymore.

“They stripped one boy naked and held him down on the table, pouring ale down his throat until he almost drowned.” She finally looked away, her voice numb.

“I spent the night in the trees, too afraid to run and terrified to stay. In the morning they were gone and everything was burned to the ground, some of the buildings were still smoking. If anyone survived the ordeal they were gone by then.” She poured the powder from the mortar into a small paper packet, closing it tightly and tucking it away, her tears gone dry.

“Then Merlin found me.” She looked coldly at Arthur, her voice a low hiss. “So you see I hate knights. You’re rapists and thieves and murderers and if it were up to me I would gut you all and strangle you with your own innards.” Arthur reached for her, trying to comfort, but she slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

Arthur swallowed thickly. “Wen, those men weren’t knights, they were bandits or soldiers. No knight would ever do what those men did to you and your family.”

“Knights, soldiers, men, who cares?” she cried. “Who cares who did it that doesn’t stop it from happening.”

She spun on her foot, catching the mortar in the cup of her hand and hurled it at the far wall where it shattered.

“Here now, what’s going on?” Gaius appeared on the stairs, glancing between Wen and Arthur. Wen stormed out the door, slamming it behind her so hard it ricocheted part of the way back open and Arthur looked helplessly at Gaius, at a loss for words.

He shook his head numbly. “I just wanted to know why she didn’t like me.”

Gaius glanced at the door lifting an eyebrow. “I take it you have your answer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now that we're past this chapter things should start picking up. I had a lot of trouble with this part for whatever reason, but I'm glad it's out of the way. I'd meant to have more of this posted by now than I do. Ah well, onward and upward.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost done! Well, sort of. I have the entire thing written out and almost completely typed. Updates will likely be coming every Friday now until completion. This one is coming early because I get my wisdom teeth out this Thursday and I'm going to be out of it for almost three days. So enjoy your early surprise!

Wen stormed down the hall, taking the servants passage she’d found earlier, not caring two winks if someone tried to stop her; they’d have to catch her first. The castle was like a maze, but some covert midnight searching had left her with a decent understanding of its structure along with several viable escape routes should they prove necessary.  


She took the closest and was soon stomping her way across sun warmed cobbles in the courtyard. It was mostly empty but the clatter of iron shoes on stone made her jump and the staring of the knights and servants made her uncomfortable. She’d never been around so much stone and travelling with Merlin had made her wary of people.  


She hurried to the lower quarter where the servants, traders, and merchants lived and worked, but the roads were bustling with people still hawking their wares or gossiping over who wore this or who said that and the cacophony made her hug herself so tightly it hurt and she hurried on, seeking darkness, silence, and solitude. The deeper she went the louder it was until a horse screamed, frightened, and reared, tossing his big head and Wen ran, the scream too like the ones she’d heard before. She panicked, running into people, knocking them aside and upending a basket of freshly laundered linens, the servant’s shouts trailing after her. She ducked around carts and the legs of horses taking the darkest alleys she could find. She became horribly entangled in the city as her wits finally came back to her and she found herself beneath a dark overhang that smelled of musty hay, wet earth, and hot metal. Still frightened she huddles in the furthest corner, watching the men and women passing by out in the open sun with eyes as sharp and watchful as a rats.  


The minutes ticked by and her heart stilled, the fear passing and she chided herself for being so silly. Only a child ran from their fear she scolded, and she was no child. Merlin had taught her to think, especially through panic and she hated herself for being so stupid. In her desperate flight she’d become lost and might well have to spend the night outside the castle’s walls; not that she minded, but she hated the thought of sleeping without Merlin.  


Setting her teeth she forced herself to stand and walked back out onto the street, blinking in the bright sun.  


Once she’d been used to the noise, to the clatter of carts and the sound of horses passing by, ridden by knights through the streets, but not now; now all she wanted was the quiet hum of birds and insects, the bubble of a brook, the creaking of their wagon and the safety it represented. The urge to run, to go back to the darkness of the overhang tickled at her spine, making her scalp prickle, but she made herself take slow, even breaths to steady her racing heart.  


Gwenddyn wandered the streets, one hand trailing along the walls, keeping it to her back so no one could sneak up on her. Every once in awhile she’d climb the roof of a nearby building when she got turned around, keeping her eyes ever on the looming castle, making her way steadily towards it one step at a time.  


She finally found a gate leading into the upper city and the inner sanctum of the castle, but the guards refused to let her in now that night had fallen, thinking she was some ragged street urchin and she was too afraid of them to argue. She could have climbed the walls, but she didn’t have her dagger with her and the thought of being chased by the guards or thrown in a dungeon closed her throat so tight she couldn’t speak, so she ducked her head and made her way back down to the lower city, now abandoned and ghost-like in the quiet, braziers burning sullenly and casting orange light at the shadows.  


She walked until her feet ached ducking into shadows to avoid the patrols and found herself back at the same overhang, realizing for the first time it was a smithy. It wasn’t a great place to spend the night, but at least it would be warm; the night air was making her skin prickle.  


She moved a pile of hay closer to the forge, pulling on the leather apron she found on a peg for a blanket and worked the bellows until heat rolled off the coals before bedding down in the hay and wishing she’d never run.


	6. Chapter 6

Sunlight chased the shadows from beneath the smithy and Gwenddyn stirred below her layer of hay, stretching languidly with a hum of contentment as her muscles stretched. Despite spending the night on a hard dirt floor she’d slept fitfully; she’d been through worse.  


“Sleep well?” Wen jerked like she’d been caught in a trap, throwing hay up into the air as she scrambled backwards, her back hitting a stone wall, cold sweat dotting her back in a flush at the realization she’d been taken unaware. She grabbed for her dagger on reflex as the memories of where she was and everything that had happened trickled into awareness, but she’d left the weapon in Gaius’ chambers.  


Prince Arthur was still kneeling by the pile of straw she’d slept on, a soft smile on his face, but his body was rigid, afraid to move lest he spook her any further, but watching her sleep had been a delight. She’d been calm, happy even, and for the first time he’d gotten a peek at the child she used to be.  


“Merlin sent me out to look for you when you didn’t come back last night. He’s been really worried,” he went on when she didn’t move, the cadence of his voice meant to pacify, ease her tension. “You mean a lot to him.”  


Gwenddyn watched him with wide owl eyes, sharp and focused, her nostrils flared, taking in the air. Arthur had no doubt she’d already thought of at least three different ways to kill him and five different ways to escape. The tendons in her throat were pulled tight, standing out through her skin so tightly he thought they would snap. There was hay caught in her tangle of dark hair and soot smeared across her face; she looked a bedraggled street urchin.  


Arthur smiled disarmingly, trying to put her at ease, but the tight line of her mouth only grew more pinched and defensive. Arthur spread his cloak out beneath him with a sigh, settling in and making himself comfortable, deciding on a different tactic. Instead of trying to draw her out he ignored her completely, opening a small sack containing a heel of bread, the crust warm and flaking, a few slices of cold ham and a chunk of crumbling white cheese cut from the wheel and wrapped in a cloth. Wen’s eyes flitted between Arthur and the bread and she caught her lip, trapping it between her teeth. Arthur could hear her stomach rumble.  


“You should eat,” he encouraged, offering her the chunk of the bread, cheese melting in the hollow he’d made, the heart still warm, filled with bits of the ham.  


Bitterness flashed across Wen’s face at the offer and she kicked her heels against the packed dirt of the floor, pushing herself further back against the wall.  


“What do you want?” she ground out, glancing at the heel of bread in his hand. She’d seen this kind of manipulation before and the corpses it left in its wake.  


“Nothing,” he said softly, his brow furrowing like he didn’t understand. “I just want you to eat.”  


“No one gives something without taking something in return.”  


Arthur picked at the crust of the bread, nibbling at it. “All right, I want you to come back to the castle with me; to see Merlin.”  


Wen’s nostrils flared again, her eyebrows coming together in suspicion. “Why?”  


“I don’t want to hurt you,” he insisted. “I know you’re angry, but Camelot is a safe place.”  


Wen almost called him a liar. No place was safe. She’d been safe at home and then the soldiers came, she’d been safe with Merlin before the thugs came, she would not be found a fool thrice.  


“I promise, no one here will lay a hand on you,” he said when he saw the look on her face.  


Wen scoffed and looked away for a moment before narrowing her eyes, assessing him. He’d helped Merlin on the ride to Camelot and he and his men had saved them from the thugs and he’d done nothing to hurt either her or Merlin since; he’d helped her take care of Merlin when they were in the wagon, after he’d been hurt. Wen stared at his eyes, big and blue, not unlike Merlin’s and soft in a similar way.  


Arthur held the bread out again, like a kind of peace offering, a smile beginning to tug cautiously at the corner of his mouth.  


“I don’t believe you,” she said, but she reached out and took the bread anyway, sniffing at it suspiciously before taking a slow bite, letting it settle in her stomach before tearing into the trencher with her teeth, her knees pulled in to her chest and Arthur smiled. At least it was a start.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's gettin' ready to go down! I hope you guys are enjoying it and I can't wait to see you at the end of it. My life has pretty much gone to shit right now so that's why this update took forever.

“When are we leaving?” The room was dark and damp with cold, the windows shuttered against the light and the biting air that was quickly growing teeth as winter drew near. Already Merlin could taste it on the wind though it was still months away.  


It had been a week since they’d come to Camelot and Merlin’s healing was slow, but steady and Wen was getting restless. Merlin was clumsy and awkward, his balance off kilter and he kept running into things, but it was getting better. His eyes still hurt whenever he went outside and preferred to wear a veil the few times he’d ventured out, but more often than not, he stayed inside though he was prone to restless pacing; he complained daily about magic and its inability to heal maladies of the mind.  


Despite all that Merlin was settling almost easily into the daily rhythms of Camelot and the knights he’d made friends with so long ago came to visit him. Wen made sure to keep a watchful eye on all of them, only letting one in at a time, shooing and ordering them about like a hen with her chicks, scolding them when they grew too rowdy and demanding they behave or they’d be forced to leave. She made a good show of it, but Merlin knew by the way she kept her back to the walls whenever they were around and carefully placed herself to the nearest exit, the knights made her nervous and no amount of persuasion could rid her of that fear, only time.  


The knights, either sensing something or having been warned by Arthur, smiled and let her herd them about, doing their best to put her at ease and embarrass Merlin at every opportunity. Wen took no notice of his complaints and let them continue to tease, but they all knew that when she got that look it was time to go. She was content for the time being, biding her time as Merlin healed, but she was quickly growing restless.  


Merlin’s fingers stilled on the plait in her hair to keep it from slipping loose. “Leaving?” he echoed.  


Wen glanced at him sidelong so Merlin wouldn’t lose the braid.  


“Well we’re not staying.” Merlin’s lips parted, but he couldn’t form any words and Wen twisted all the way around, her knees touching his. “We’re not,” she said firmly, her eyes wide, but the statement was quickly growing into a question. Merlin looked guilty. “No,” she shook her head in denial. “We never stay in one place, always on the move remember?” To Merlin’s surprise Wen’s eyes filled with tears and he touched her arms, his lips parting as he struggled to find words. He had no idea she’d react to violently. “You were going to show me the world,” she accused, “teach me magic.”  


Merlin’s hands slid down her arms to cup her hands, giving them a squeeze. “This is my home Wen. I thought you knew that.” Wen snatched her hands back, stepping off the bed and away from Merlin, the braid in her hair falling apart.  


“It’s not!” she argued. “It hasn’t been your home for years; the wagon’s home, the road is home! Not here.” Merlin extended a hand and out of habit Wen stepped forward, tucking herself against his side, pressing her face to his shoulder. He kissed her hair and squeezed her tight.  


“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner, but I can’t leave, not again. I was wrong to run before; I can’t abandon him again.”  


Wen hid her face in Merlin’s shirt. “Why?” The pain in her voice made him ache.  


“Because he is my king and my friend,” he said softly, “and I love him.” Wen sat back down on the bed beside him and Merlin swiped at her tears. “He needs me.”  


“I need you.” She pursed her lips together in a thin line, the expression she made when she was trying not to cry.  


Merlin could think of nothing to say and Wen sniffled, forcing a smile.  


“I’ll go get you something to eat.” She smiled at Merlin but it was wan and Merlin wasn’t surprised when it took her several hours to return.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, long story short, the computer crashed and I lost all my edits for several months so if this chapter is a little rougher than usual, that's why. Longer chapters will be coming soon.

Kicking the door open without knocking Wen strode unceremoniously into Arthur’s room like she’d done it a hundred times before, shoving her hands deep inside the pockets of her trousers, a heavy glower on her face.  


Arthur blinked at her, a quill held aloft from where he’d been preparing to sign one of the many documents scattered about the table, the ink drying on the tip. He could only stare as she flopped down in the padded chair across from him, looking like she planned to stay there whether he liked it or not. Arthur’s lips thinned and he pinched the quill between his fingers.  


“Well the least you could do is shut the door,” he scolded. Wen ignored him completely, glaring down at the table and shuffling through the papers he so carefully organized. Arthur huffed, dropping the quill back into the ink well and rose laboriously from his chair to shut the door himself, grumbling under his breath. “Just as impertinent as your father,” he muttered as he shut the door, skulking back to his seat and returning to the document he’d been about to sign.  


Deciding two could play at whatever game she was about he ignored her and returned to work. Wen ruffled through the assorted papers, gazing down at first one and then another, scanning them without really seeing them before setting them aside and being a general nuisance. When Arthur continued to ignore her she crossed one leg over the other, swinging it back and forth, kicking Arthur in the shin with the toe of her shoe.  


After the third kick Arthur dropped the document and sighed in a longsuffering kind of way, glaring at her. “Is there something I can help you with?”  


Wen looked away, as if now that she had his attention she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She bit her lip for a moment before clacking her teeth, something he’d seen Merlin doing of late. He frowned as she fidgeted, trying to remember to be patient. This was the first time she’d ever gone out of her way to approach him and he didn’t want to scare her off. Whatever was bothering her must be important for her to be here and he knew better than to push.  


Remembering not to touch he leaned forward, drawing her attention away from the window she was resolutely staring out of and back to him, noticing for the first time her eyes were red.  


“What’s wrong?” Concern softened his voice and Wen drummed her fingers along the table, rubbing at a whorl along the edge with her thumb, unwilling to speak, but knowing she needed to. She looked at Arthur askance, part suspicion, part admiration, studying him, as if weighing something in his face only she could see.  


“He’s going to stay you know,” she finally ventured, “ Merlin I mean,” she said, as if she needed to clarify whom she was speaking of.  


“Ah.” Arthur sat back in his chair, at least partially relieved to know he wasn’t going to vanish again. It had been a long few years without Merlin and Arthur’s heart ached with all the time they’d lost, but it still didn’t explain why Gwenddyn seemed so upset.  


“I’m glad,” he said to fill the silence when it seemed like she was expecting an answer.  


Her lips thinned in response and she clenched her jaw, glancing back out the window again and nodding like she’d expected as much. “I asked him to leave you know.” Her eyes were razor sharp as she looked at him, as if caught between anger and tears. The scale tipped towards tears and her lip trembled, something in her face seeming to crack for the first time and Arthur saw the fear behind the mask of anger she always wore, the vulnerability and it hurt him to see it. “He loves you more than me.” Her voice shook and Arthur fought the reflex to reach for her, to comfort.  


“No,” he said, “that’s not true Wen.”  
She shook her head, her curls swinging back and forth. “But it is.” She swallowed thickly. “It is and it’s okay.” She swiped a hand over her cheek, wiping away her tears and trying to smile. “I just hope you need him as much as he needs you. He’s-” She struggled to put words to what she knew Merlin felt for him, the effect she knew Arthur had on him, but couldn’t quite manage it, “different, when you’re around; happy, like the web of grief and guilt that used to cling to him for as long as I’ve known him thins, if only a little.”  


Her face clouded over with jealousy and she glared at Arthur. “I don’t want him to stay. I want to leave and go back to our wagon and travel the world like he promised me we would.” She chewed her lip again, shifting her weight in the chair. When she looked up again her eyes were softer. “But you make him happy and as jealous as I am I could never take him away from that.” She flushed and ground her teeth, feeling off balance.  


“Look, I’m not good with this mushy stuff, just-” she waved her hand about, still struggling to say what she needed to, “take care of him.” She rose to her feet but Arthur caught her eye before she could leave, leaning halfway out of his chair and around the table, keeping his hands tangled in his lap where she could see them and he wouldn‘t be tempted to touch her.  


“Thank you,” he said softly, “for telling me. I would never do anything to hurt him.”  
Wen’s gaze turned fierce and she stepped toward him threateningly, her words clipped and terse. “Good; because if you did, I’d kill you.” She marched from the room, fists at her side, yanking the door open and letting it clang against the wall and Arthur rolled his eyes.  


Just like Merlin indeed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I don't know what was goig on with this chapter but it should be fixed now. And apparently I missed a chapter so it'll be posted soon.

The air was warm with the crisp edge of a long lingering summer, strikingly out of place in Camelot as it sat deep in the chill of autumn, the rich scent of summer poppies carried along by the gentle zephyr even as the leaves and grass all around the city was turning brown and dying. Gwenddyn sat in the field of conjured poppies Merlin had created, running her fingers through his dark hair as he lay with his head in her lap, sunlight dappling their skin through a hole in the grey sky, the clouds hung low and damp. She picked a flower and tucked it behind his ear with a giggle, the petals wide and unfurled, resting gently against his cheek. Merlin opened one eye to shoot her a mocking glare, but she just smiled, adjusting the poppy until she was sure it wouldn‘t fall.

Pouting, he wiggled about and whined until she went back to petting his hair, his face all scrunched up and pitiful looking. Gwenddyn’s mind wandered as Merlin settled and she hummed a disjointed tune to herself, swaying gently with the breeze, half hidden behind the towering grass and flowers. Her eyes fell longingly to the road and the ceaseless flow of people in and out of Camelot. Knights, merchants, servants, petitioners to see the king, messengers, and many more, all coming and going, inevitably doing what she would rather be; leaving. She traced the line of the road from Camelot with her eyes until it vanished and she let out a long, but resigned sigh, looking down at Merlin with a soft smile. Part of her still wanted nothing more than to leave with him, to whisk Merlin away in their wagon, but she would content to be with him wherever he chose to stay. He was her father and she wouldn’t leave him.

Merlin opened his eyes and caught the sad look on her face when her fingers stilled, lost in thought as she stared at the road. “Will you play for me?” he asked, hoping to distract her from her pining. It seemed to have the desired effect. It brought a light sparkled in her eye and she pinched his cheek playfully until it turned rosy.

“I don’t have my mandolin silly.”

“Well,” Merlin drawled, drawing out the word, “maybe there’s something I can do about that. I am a wizard after all.” She rolled her eyes as Merlin waved his hands about with a dramatic flourish. His eyes flashed and he was holding the mandolin by its graceful neck, one hand cupped around the bell to support it, the rosewood shining beautifully in the sunlight.

Wen smothered a laugh behind her hand and tried to look nonplussed. “Show off,” she scolded. Merlin just shrugged and sat up, the mandolin still in his hands, turning to face her. “What would you like to hear?” she asked, taking the instrument and carefully tuning it. She played a few notes experimentally, letting them hang enticingly in the air as Merlin thought.

He hummed idly, tapping a finger to his lips in thought. “Something beautiful.” Wen strummed a piercing chord and launched into a bawdy tavern ballad in a loud and decidedly off-key voice. Merlin shriek in surprised alarm and tackled her to the ground, careful not to damage the mandolin.

“I said something beautiful!” Wen squealed in delight, squirming to get away, but unable to. Merlin tickled her mercilessly, delighting in the sound of her laughter as it rang across the hills, peppering her face with kisses as they rolled through the grass.

“I give! I give!” she cried breathlessly, twisting away, tears running down her temples as she laughed, her cheeks flushed. She sat up, clutching her stomach and gasping for breath. She managed to scoot just out of reach of Merlin and eyed him suspiciously as she set the mandolin in her lap, finally turning her attention to the instrument. She played idly for a moment, trying to decide on a song, humming it softly to herself when she found one she liked, flowing seamlessly into the song, her voice gentle and slow, tinged with just a touch of sadness.

“When the nightingale sings, the trees grow green, leaf and grass and blossom springs, in April, I suppose.”

Merlin shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position in the grass, lulled by Wen’s sweet soprano and the magic humming in the air of their personal sanctuary, plucking strands of grass and flowers, braiding them together.

All around them autumn’s teeth were sinking into the land, but here it was warm and happy, as delightful as the innocence of youth. Wen’s voice entranced him, filling his heart with love, making it swell. He wanted nothing more than for this moment to last forever; but he knew better.

Footsteps approached and Merlin craned his neck to peer over the poppy field, grinning as he saw Arthur drawing near. Gwenddyn sang on, unaware of his presence or choosing to ignore him. Merlin waved him over and Arthur crossed a finger over his lips, not wanting to disturb Wen’s song. He sat on the grass beside Merlin, crossing his legs and listening to the sad melody of Wen’s song.

 “I have loved all this past year so that I may love no more.”

Arthur was quiet, watching her, his eyes downcast while Merlin wove several of the poppies together, glancing up now and then to smile fondly. Wen closed her eyes as she sang, swaying back and forth, oblivious to her captive audience.

When she struck the final chord Merlin clapped, the braided flowers falling to his lap. Wen set the mandolin carefully aside and Merlin swept her up in his arms, dropping kisses on her cheeks and hair as she giggled. Making herself comfortable on Merlin’s lap she smiled up at Arthur, Merlin dropping the crown of flowers onto her head. It was too big and slipped down over her eyes, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“That was beautiful.” Arthur tugged at the grass and Wen flushed prettily.

“If you’re good maybe I’ll play for you too,” she offered.

Arthur smiled back but it was brittle and distant. “I’d like that.”

Concern dampened the smile on Merlin’s face as he looked at his friend. “Arthur? What is it?”

He wouldn’t meet Merlin’s eyes. “There’s someone who wants to see you,” he said evasively. “They’re waiting in the grand hall.”

"Must be pretty important if you came all the way out here to see me,” he teased but Arthur didn’t as much as smile.

Merlin lifted Wen and set her on her feet. “Why don’t you take the mandolin back to Gaius’ before some nymph whisks it away? I’ll meet you back there.”

"You know I don’t believe in nymphs.” She bent to retrieve the mandolin.

 “That’s only because you haven’t met one yet.”

“Actually I need you both,” Arthur interrupted and Merlin’s concern deepened to suspicion.

“What’s going on?”

Arthur rose, brushing dirt and grass from his pants. “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

Merlin and Wen shared a look before Merlin shrugged it off. Maybe Arthur was just having an off day; even so, he wasn’t going to let it put a damper on his mood.

Catching Wen by the shoulders her turned her around and lifted her into the air, and she giggled in surprise as he set her on his shoulders before heading after Arthur, his hands resting on Wen’s knees.

“Will you tell me what’s going on now?” he asked when he and Arthur were walking side by side. He still had the poppy sitting lopsided behind his ear and the joyful look on his face broke Arthur’s heart. He couldn’t bear to tell him.

“You’ll see,” was all he said and they traveled the rest of the way in silence.

Two guards stepped forward to open the heavy wooden doors when they saw Arthur approaching. Arthur stopped, gesturing Merlin inside first. He shot Arthur a funny look, setting Wen on the ground and taking her hand in his before entering the hall, carrying the scent of summer with him.

Gaius and a small group of men Merlin didn’t recognize were standing off to the side at the end of the hall murmering, but they feel silent as the doors opened. They were covered in road dust and smelled like horse, mud caking their boots; they must have come from somewhere outside of Camelot.

“At last,” one of the men said, stepping forward. His shaved pate was dappled with three days growth, leaving a dark shadow across his face and head like a dirty veil. He was a big man with thick hairy arms and a scar through one eyebrow. His nose was mashed to the side and when he smiled Merlin could see broken teeth. The man seemed a pit fighter more than anything and Merlin couldn’t understand why he would be in Camelot, let alone what he wanted with him. Pit fighting had been outlawed for years.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Merlin asked, glancing at Arthur.

The man flicked him a look, his attention focused more on Wen, menace hiding along the edge of his smile. "No, I don’t believe we’ve met.” He took in the sigils marring Merlin’s skin with distaste and Merlin’s expression shuttered closed. “But I do know you.” He smiled his broken smile down at Gwenddyn who’d gone ashen, her little fist cold with sweat in his own. “It’s so good to see you Heddwyn. When we heard about the raid on your village I feared the worst. It’s taken us a long time to find you. And here you are safe and sound.” He threw his arms open, a wide grin on his face, as if he expected her to run to him and Melin's stomach dropped, landing somewhere inside his boots.

As the man spoke Merlin had urged Wen subconsciously behind him, his hand hovering out to the side to protect her, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“I can’t thank you enough for looking out for her,” he went on, finally addressing Merlin, his voice strained.

Arthur stepped up beside Merlin when he didn’t respond, touching a hidden hand to his back and speaking gently.

“Merlin, this is Drest,” he said slowly, half afraid Merlin would bolt. “Wen’s uncle. He’s come to take her home.” Merlin’s eyes were wild as he turned to Arthur, shaking his head numbly.

“I don’t understand.”

Arthur rested his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “It took a long time for news of what happened at Wen’s village to reach him," he explained. "By the time he was able to come looking for her, she was gone. He’s spent all this time trying to find her.” His eyes searched Merlin’s hoping for some sign that Merlin understood what he was saying, but all he could see was pain and fear. He turned Merlin away from Drest, their shoulders touching, wanting some kind of privacy. “She has family now,” he whispered.

“I’m her family,” Merlin insisted, taking half a step away from Arthur, his voice high with an edge of hysteria. “You can’t-“ he stumbled, “you’re taking her away?” Merlin could barely see through his tears, could barely process what Arthur was saying. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Arthur was supposed to be his friend, how could he do this?

“It’s not my choice,” Arthur murmured, lowering his voice so only Merlin could hear. He wanted to take his hand, comfort him, tell him everything was going to be okay; but it wasn't. “He’s blood Merlin; you have no legal claim to her. She has to go with him.” His hand hung in the air between them, trying to offer comfort. "There's nothing I can do."

“You promised!” Both men turned to Wen who‘d been standing off to the side, listening. She was cradling the mandolin against her chest like a shield, tears streaming down her cheeks, betrayal hot in her eyes. “You promised to protect me,” she accused, staring at Arthur. “I trusted you!”

Merlin dropped to his knees before her, drawing her close. “Oh little one,” he soothed, brushing her dark hair back from her face, slipping into the language Arthur had heard him use before to reassure her. Wen glanced at Drest, her eyes wide and wet.

“Is he your uncle?” he asked, not wanting to hear the answer. Wen clutched the mandolin until her fingers were white. She bit her lip and nodded.

 “Please don’t make me go with him,” she begged. "He wasn't there! He was never there!" Her fingers tangled in the rough homespun of Merlin's tunic, as if to try and keep him there. "You were," she pleaded. Her voice cracked on the words and Merlin could feel his heart breaking. "You taught me to read, taught me to play, hugged me when I was scared. He's not my family." She choked on the words as Merlin struggled to speak through the tears in his throat. “You're my papa. Please just take me away,” she whispered, “we can still leave, disappear like we did before,” she cried, her voice rising and Merlin had never hated himself more.

They should have run when they’d had the chance.

Merlin crushed her to him, the mandolin trapped between them. Wen hung onto him so tightly he could feel her nails through his shirt as she sobbed into his shoulder.

“I can’t." He hid his face against her neck to hide his tears and fought to keep his voice level. "Believe me, I want nothing more than to take you away from here, but it’s too late; I don’t have a choice.” He pulled back to look at her, smoothing her hair. “I’m so sorry," he babbled. “Please Wen, if he’s ever hurt you tell me now and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. Tell me you don’t want to go with him and I will set the world on fire to get you away from here.”

Merlin saw the lie war across her face, but in the end she shook her head, unable to tell him anything other than the truth. Merlin had never wanted her to lie more than he did in that moment. Her denial left him breathless. “No," she stumbled, squeezing her eyes shut as if the denail left her aching.

Merlin held her tighter, his arms bruising on the edges of the mandolin.

A light touch on Merlin’s shoulder had him pulling away. “Merlin,” Arthur said softly, gently drawing him back.

Merlin scrubbed at his tears with a sleeve, leaving his cheeks raw and stinging. He tucked Wen’s hair behind her ears, smoothing it down beneath the poppy crown she still wore and tried to smile.

“You be strong now, for me, like I know you are.” He tweaked her cheek playfully, but couldn't bring himself to smile.

A cry, more heart breaking than anything Arthur had ever heard before, escaped her throat and Wen curled in on herself, trembling so much he was afraid she'd shake apart. Her dark hair, so much like Morgana's slipped forward over her shoulders to hide her face and in that moment she looked so much like his sister, alone and afraid, desperate, he almost took her up in his arms, agonized, wishing to take the whole thing back. She was cornered with no where to run and no one to help her and it was his fault.

“Heddwyn?” Drest asked as he stepped forward, one hand extended toward her, an impatient smile just managing to cling to his face.

“Don’t call me that!” She rounded on him. “That’s not my name,” she screamed. Merlin caught her shoulders, his grip so tight it hurt.

“Look at me,” he ordered, sorrow making his voice gruff. “I love you.” Every word was a struggle and whispered as fiercely as an oath. “You will always be my daughter. No one can take that away from you, do you hear me? No one.” He shook her without meaning too but she seemed not to feel it.

Wen threw her arms around him and Merlin never wanted to let go.

Giving her one last squeeze Merlin kissed her hair and pulled away, standing and taking a step back. Drest smiled, but it seemed forced. Wen stared up at him and Merlin watched as she tucked her terror away like he'd seen her do a hundred time, her tears finally stopping as she set her jaw and straightened her shoulders, her expression closing before she stepped toward Drest, hiding her weakness; Merlin was painfully proud of her strength. Drest caught up her hand, swallowing it in his big one and turned to Arthur.

“Thank you Your Highness for returning my sister’s daughter to me; she is all I have left in the world." The litany seemed rehearsed. "She means everything to me.” Somehow Arthur found that difficult to believe. He inclined his head, afraid to speak. He liked this no more than Merlin.

As he watched Drest lead Wen from the hall he couldn’t help feeling he was making a terrible mistake, his heart racing in terror, leaving him lightheaded and drenched in sweat. His mouth opened and closed, caught between calling out and staying silent, but he couldn’t make his throat work. When they reached the door Wen turned back, her eyes catching Merlin’s and he stepped forward, the string attaching his heart to hers tugging sharply and drawing him towards her, threatening to snap. She twisted in Drest’s grip, reaching for Merlin, but Drest held on tightly, pulling her after him against her will.

“Merlin,” she called, tears springing anew. Drest, frustrated with her, picked her up and held her tightly to his chest, eliciting a scream from her as she dropped the mandolin, shouting for Merlin in a panic.

Seized with agrise, Merlin’s throat clamped shut so hard he struggled to breathe. He couldn’t do this, it was wrong. Wen belonged with him. Seeing her terror was all he needed. He wasn’t going to let her get away.

Seeing him trying to come for her made Wen fight all the harder and she squirmed in Drest’s arms. Merlin bolted forward, magic crackling at his fingers but Arthur caught him around the waist, dragging him back, nearly toppling them to the floor, trying to avoid flying elbows and clawing nails as Merlin struggled to break free, the stones beneath their feet trembling.

“Papa!” Wen shrieked as the doors closed, cutting the sound off and Merlin could feel the thread between them snap, his magic dying with a hollow thud as he screamed for her, a ring of golden light expanding outwards in a circle, leaving Arthur‘s skin tingling and hair standing on end, his bones aching with the force of it.

Merlin’s knees went weak as a hole settled in his chest, turning his legs to water beneath him and he went numb, slumping against Arthur like a dead weight, dragging them both to the ground. Arthur held on, his arms still around Merlin's waist, the flower falling from his hair and wilting as he wept, his fingers wrapped around Arthur's arms. Pain turned to anger and Merlin screamed. The sound echoed and thrummed, a dull roar filling the air.

 Magic crackled against Arthur's skin, stone dust and chips rising in the air as the entire hall shook with his agony, threatening to come down around them. The rafters shifted and creaked, glass shattering in the windows and covering them with glittering dust, all of it ground into powder. Pressure built in the room, squeezing an invisible fist around Arthur's chest, a weight he could feel in his ears as a window near them burst. Arthur was shaking him, saying something, but Merlin could barely hear him through the roaring in his ears, the pounding of blood in his veins as he screamed. 

“She’s gone Merlin!” he cried, the words slicing through him like an icy knife. “She’s gone,” he said, holding Merlin tightly as their eyes met, rocking him as he wept, keeping Merlin's flailing arms trapped against his sides, trying to prevent another bloodied lip. Arthur’s eyes fell on the closed doors, the knot in his stomach winding itself tighter, knowing he'd regret letting her go for the rest of his life and that Merlin might never forgive him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay here's the chapter I apparently forgot to post.

Merlin paced back and forth inside Arthur's chambers, his boots scraping against the stone floor, scattering grit and pebbles as he tugged at his hair. Candlelight flickered across the room, the wax melting and running in rivulets down the walls to puddle on the floor like rain water. The fire roared in the empty hearth, the wood burned to ash, the flames feeding on Merlin's magic as it crackled through the air, sparking like electricity and making Arthur's skin prickle uncomfortably, his hair standing on end.

"What have I done." Merlin walked back and forth across the room, his steps literally warping the stone. "I never should have let her go," he mumbled, his words chattering over and atop one another, hairs popping loose between his fingers.

"You didn't have a choice." Arthur tried to catch his arm as Merlin walked past, but Merlin brushed him off.

"Didn't I?" His voice was high with panic, his eyes equally wide. He looked like he'd dropped five pounds in the past hour; which was entirely possible with the amount of magic he was using; he was burning himself up.

He finally turned to face Arthur. "I am the most powerful wizard ever to be born." For the first time the words sounded bitter with agony. "I could have killed them with a thought or taken her up in my arms, carried her away from here in an instant, somewhere she could be safe." His voice turned shrill, golden eyes flickering about the room, never settling on anything for more than a few seconds as he went back to pacing as if expecting Wen to appear from around the furniture, tackling him with a hug and a laugh, warning him about the dangers of letting his guard down.

Arthur crossed the room after Merlin as he started doing laps around the table. He winced, trying to shake of the growing pain of Merlin's magic building in the air, pinching behind his ears. "You promised you'd stay," he said softly. He doesn't mean for it to sound accusatory or to make Merlin feel guilty. If it does Merlin shows no sign of it.

"I promised her I'd protect her," he said.

Arthur touched his arms, drawing him slowly to a stop. "From what? Help me understand Merlin," he coaxed, "she's with her uncle now, what harm could possibly befall her?"

Merlin stepped out of his grasp. "She told me she had no family when we first met but today she said she did know Drest, that he was her uncle. Why would she lie to me? She doesn't do that."

"That's what's bothering you?" Arthur tried not to laugh. "The fact she lied? Merlin, she's a little girl, children lie." He's trying to be soothing but his words seem to have the opposite effect on Merlin.

"Because she's not a liar; she hates lies. I swear she has some kind of a sixth sense for lying. She can always tell when I'm lying. She doesn't lie.

"There's something else going on." He dropped his head into his hands. "And there was something familiar about those men," he mumbled from behind his fingers, "I swear I've met them before." He lowered his hands and stared at Arthur. "Something's wrong, I know it. I never should have let her go."

Arthur guided him to a chair and Merlin sank into it, his shoulders drooped with defeat. "I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach," he confessed.

Arthur smiled fondly. "Another one of your funny feelings?" he asked and Merlin smiled briefly but it didn't touch his eyes. Arthur pulled a second chair over, siting almost close enough their knees touched. Merlin leaned towards him.

"I can't just let it go, I know there's something wrong. I wish I could tell you more but I can't. There isn't any." His lips thinned and he looked sad, frustrated. "I'm asking you to trust me. She's in danger. I can't just leave her." He paused, weighing his next words.

"I'd like you to come with me. To get her back."

"I'm sure you're quite capable of handling it yourself. Besides I can't just leave. Much as I would like to."

Merlin bit his lip. "I know. I just-" He sighed, shifting about in his chair and it creaked beneath him, but Arthur noticed the fires had burned themselves out and Merlin's eyes were back to their normal blue. "Just because I can kill Drest, and I will if I have to, doesn't mean part of me likes it. I don't expect there to be trouble from him, but if he makes a move I won't hesitate." He trailed off, not sure what he was asking. "I'd rather not kill him, but I'm not sure I'm going to be able to stop-" He bit off the rest of the sentence and changed directions. "I think I need you there, to stop me, just in case the worst happens."

Arthur shook his head. "You won't kill him Merlin. It's not in you."

Merlin dropped his head, cheeks red with shame as Arthur stood. "A lot's changed," he whispered. His hand drifted to the tangle of scars on his abdomen, feeling the warm ridges beneath his shirt fleetingly before letting his hand drop away. Arthur remembers them from the time Merlin was prostrate in the wagon, though he doesn't know what they have to do with anything.

"You're serious aren't you?" he asked, his voice quiet with disbelief. "You really think you'll kill him." Merlin's silence is chilling.

"We'll get her back," Arthur promised, making up his mind and ducking his head to catch Merlin's eyes. "Whatever it takes."

Merlin glanced up at him through his lashes. "That's what I'm afraid of."


	11. Chapter 11

"How can you see anything?" Arthur complained. "It's black as pitch." He leaned forward in his saddle, the leather creaking, to glare at Merlin's back, barely discernible in the darkness. "I told you, we need light to see in the dark. Even you should know that Merlin." He drawled the name like he used to and Merlin smiled. "One of the horses is going to fall and snap a leg and then where will we be?"

"Lost in the middle of the forest?" he suggested blithely.

"Shut up," Arthur threw back and Merlin rolled his eyes.

"She won't trip. She has better eyesight than a cat right now, I made sure of it." He twisted in the saddle to look at Arthur. "Trust her," he urged, "trust me. We're almost there. They've made camp just ahead."

Merlin had spelled both horses to improve their eyesight in the dark and muffle their steps before they left, allowing he and Arthur to sneak up on the men who'd taken Wen, but he wasn't willing to take any chances. Even with magic he couldn't entirely silence their approach and he wanted to make sure they drew as little attention to themselves as possible. Especially considering they were the same men who's originally attacked Merlin and Wen, though not for any reason he or Arthur could discern. It was a subject they'd discussed at length once Merlin realized why they were familiar, and Drest was indeed Wen's uncle, but neither of them could decide what he'd had to gain by having his men attack them on the road. Or why they had taken so long to make their presence in Camelot known afterwards.

Arthur muttered something or other to himself and Merlin smiled into the night. A few minutes more and they come to a halt, Merlin signaling for Arthur to dismount. He crossed his lips with a finger and tied the reigns of his horse to a nearby branch.

Leaving the horses behind they made the rest of the way on foot, Arthur drawing his sword with a quiet hiss as the raucous laughter of the men ahead filtered back to them through the trees. They were making no effort to hide themselves.

Peering through the trees, safe in the darkness, Merlin caught a glimpse of Gwenddyn sitting hobbled to the back of the cart, a fierce glare on her face. She always could out-glare a thunderstorm. The thought brings a smile to Merlin's lips.

Drest wiped ale from his grizzled chin with the back of a hand, squatting down in front of her. "You should fetch at least a few gold pieces," he drawled, "magic or no. I know some men who'd pay a fair price for a pretty girl such as you."

"Pity we couldn't take the other one," one of Drest's men called. "The price is better in the slave market for the gifted. All that work for one measly girl," he snapped, "and not even gifted." 

"Don't matter. One's better than none. Slap some cold iron on her and they won't know the difference." He glanced back over his shoulder. "You want to be mad at someone be mad at Castor. He's the one who bungled it the first time. If we'd taken them when we were suppose to we wouldn't even be having this conversation. We'd all be rich and drunk."

Drest's other companion tittered, obviously further into his cups than the other two. "Instead we're just drunk."

Drest caught Wen's chin in a meaty hand and she wrenched away, spitting in his face. One of the men laughed.

"Maybe we should try her in the pits instead," he said. "I'd bet on her."

Drest glared at him but said nothing, turning to sneer at Wen. "Might be we will. I'd like to see you up against a bear with that little pig-sticker we pulled off you." He bared his teeth in a vicious smile before walking off, gulping down more ale.

"I need a piss."

He stepped through the bushes not three feet from where Merlin and Arthur were crouched. The movement must have caught Wens attention because her eyes locked with Merlin's. To her credit she gave no reaction to show she knew they were there. Arthur made to stand, attack the camp while Drest was gone and they were one less, but Merlin threw out an arm, catching him across the chest and stopping him as Wen touched the second finger of each hand to her thumbs.

"What is it?"

Merlin shook his head, watching as Wen made another sign, two fingers to the inside of her wrist, drawing a line down through her palm, her eyes wandering listlessly about the camp.

"You see that movement she just made down her arm? It means aggression. The first was danger."

Arthur made a face.

"What? You do it all the time when you're out hunting and such," Merlin whispered, "we just made our own."

Wen stared blandly at the men still lingering in the camp, touching two fingers to the back of her left hand.

"What's that one mean?"

Merlin frowned. "I'm not sure." Wen tapped her hand again and Merlin glanced down at his own, the one she was indicating. The rune scarred into his skin cast thin shadows across his hand in the firelight.

"She used to rub that," Arthur said, "when you were in the wagon."

"It means to protect or guard." He looked back at Wen who'd turned back to them, drawing a line down her cheekbone with the outside of her thumb.

"'Merlin,'" he said. "'Protect Merlin.' Protect me from what?"

"Drest said she didn't have magic, like he was expecting her to."

"Well of course not," Merlin hissed. "What would make him think she did?"

"Rumors of a powerful wizard kidnapping his niece maybe?" Arthur suggested. LThey did say they were planning on selling her in the salve market. But it's possible they're not willing to settle for just her. They seem awfully set on getting you."

"You mean you think she's bait," Merlin said. He shook his head like he was trying to dislodge the thought. "But they're drunk."

"I said it was possible, not that it was wise."

A wicked smile spread across Merlin's face at the thought of them trying to capture him. "Their mistake." He turned and cast a spell, weaving magic through the air with his hands. Stepping into the firelight Merlin unleashed the spell as the two men saw him, knocking them both unconscious before either had the chance to shout. He could have done it from where he had been hiding, but he wanted to see the looks on their faces first, the surprise in the moment before the fear gripped them. They hit the ground without so much as a groan.

Gesturing for Arthur to untie Gwenddyn, Merlin gathered his magic, erecting a one-way barrier around the camp. Drest would be able to come back through it, but not to leave.

Once the spell was cast Merlin made himself comfortable, turning the rabbits on the spit as they cooked, a veil of cold threat clinging to his every movement. He could wait.

As Merlin sat he seethed, fanning the embers of the rage that had abated earlier. He stared into the fire and he nursed his anger, letting it consume him. Arthur couldn't tell if the gold in his eyes was from the flames or the fire of his magic.

As the minutes passed a growing darkness clung to Merlin, manifesting like shadows and cloaking him in a way even the flames couldn't chase away as it flared. Arthur felt the cold of that darkness in the pit of his stomach but said nothing, afraid to speak and draw that anger towards himself.

Soon enough they heard lewd cursing and the snapping of branches as Drest lumbered back through the trees towards camp. Catching sight of his comrades on the ground he stumbled to a stop, taking in Merlin by the fire and Arthur with Wen pressed tightly against the side of his leg, a venomous look on her face, though she stood rigidly upright, defiant, her head high.

"Here now," he drawled, swaying gently with drink, pointing at Arthur and blinking dully, "what's goin' on?"

"The rabbits are almost done," Merlin answered instead. "Why don't you have a seat?" Merlin's smile was cold and unyielding, an odd mockery of the first time he had met Castor, but his tone was pleasant, if detached.

Arthur, his eyes still on Drest, led Wen to the fire to chase away the cold autumn air. As he sar down Wen crawled onto his lap and while surprised, he wrapped his arms protectively around her, whispering an apology into her ear.

Originally caught off-guard by their presence, Drest finally regained his footing, glowering down at the three of them. He puffed himself up like a peacock, his cheeks going red and Merlin was faintly amused by the sight, but it withered in the face of his rage.

"If you've come to take the girl you'd best think again." He wags a finger at Merlin scoldingly. "She's my niece and-"

"Are you threatening me?" Merlin's voice poppled and cracked like thin ice underfoot and Drest paled.

Gold eyes looked up at Drest, magic dancing in them, barely restrained. Every word was slow and measured, carefully spoken and more threatening than if Merlin had shouted. Arthur almost wished he had.

"I said sit down." An invisible hand reached out and yanked Drest off his feet, plopping him down on the ground across from Merlin and by the look on the man's face Arthur can tell he hadn't gone willingly.

Merlin steepled his fingers, leaning forward. "Now, niece or not, I don't think she wants to go with you," he went on as if nothing had happened. Wen's expression was answer enough. "I've come to take her back.

"Now, there are a couple of options here." He pulled the rabbits from the fire, giving them a few moments to cool.

"First, you let me take her or I will flay every inch of skin from your body and watch you scream in agony for hours. Then maybe I'll grant you the mercy of killing you," he hissed, a low growl issuing from between his teeth, turning his voice into a raspy snarl Arthur didn't recognize. "Or maybe I'll just make you watch as I eat your heart." In the glare of the fire Merlin's pupils were narrow slits and fear touched Arthur's heart, but it's Gwenddyn's voice that called out to him.

"Merlin." Her voice was so soft Arthur wasn't sure Merlin heard her, but those snake-like eyes snapped to her from across the fire and she didn't flinch. In that moment she seemed so sad, so much older than her years and something in her gaze grounded Merlin, reminding him not to lose control. It was enough to bring him back from the edge of whatever precipice he'd been standing on, bring him back to himself, but not without a visible struggle.

Taking a few slow, deep breaths the magic in his eyes flickered out and his pupils swelled to their natural shape. Behind Wen, Arthur released a breath between his teeth, his grip on her loosening and she patted his arms where they were linked about her waist.

Merlin swallowed thickly and softened his voice. "She will be well cared for and loved. She will be provided with everything she could ever need."

"What makes you think I can't do all that for her?" Drest shot back, having rallied at least some small portion of his courage.

Merlin's glare was withering and Drest paled again. "You do not want me to answer that. Especially considering I just heard you talking about selling her. And me might I add." His voice graveled and he had to bite his tongue for a moment before going on.

"If you try and fight and take her back from me," Merlin said, "I will kill you before you can draw your next breath. You have nothing to lose save for a girl you pretend to care for and everything to gain. You will be well compensated for your trouble." He spat the words as if they were something vile, but if Arthur's measure of the man was correct he'd take the money in exchange. It seemed to be all he was interested in anyway.

Drest stared at him warily. "What's the other option?" Merlin was distantly impressed by the man's courage. Or maybe it was audacity. 

"That was the other option. You give her to me and walk away or I kill you.

"Whichever way you choose I will have her. It's up to you as to whether or not you leave here empty handed; or even alive. Do you understand?" Merlin asked. With a wave of his hand Merlin lifted Drest's dagger from his hip, stealing whatever Drest had planned to say from his lips in surprise and no small amount of fear.

Plucking the knife from the air Merlin used it to cut up one of the rabbits. He offered some to Arthur and Wen as if this were nothing more than a casual dinner between old acquaintances. 

Arthur waved the meat away, his stomach in knots, but Wen nibbled on her piece, her eyes never leaving Drest.

"Think carefully," Merlin warned, "is your life really worth the few gold pieces you might get selling the girl? What were you planning to do?" he laughed, "did you honestly think she had magic?"

Drest flushed. "I didn't know what to believe when I heard she'd been kidnapped by a sorcerer. Who knows what sort of vile experiments you've been running on her." He spat into the dirt and Merlin rested his elbows on his knees.

"Yes," he drawled. "The same kind I'd like to run on you ." Drest caught his tongue between his teeth, his face ashen. His eyes flickered down to the few scars visible on Merlin's hands. He shifted deliberately, tugging up the sleeves of his tunic under the pretense of being too hot and stretched his hands out toward the fire, showing off the more elaborate designs of his forearms.

Some part of Merlin was feeding on the man's fear, but he was growing weary of whatever game Drest was trying to play and he bareef his teeth around the next words in warning. "Take the gold and leave with your life or stay and lose your skin, what will you choose?" he snapped. "I will not ask again."

"One hundred sovereigns and the girl is yours." Drest tried to project some kind of bravado into his voice and failed miserably. Merlin licked his lips like he could taste it. Maybe he could

Sweat dappled Drest's forehead and ran down his neck, his little eyes wide and blinking. Terror had made him small.

"Done," Arthur cut in before Merlin could say anything. He threw his coin purse at the man, knowing there was easily that and likely more inside-- they'd come prepared for just such a request -- but he wasnt willing to take the time to count it out and leave Merlin to grapple with his anger. He would likely follow through on his threat to skin Drest alive in the time it would take.

Drest fumbled to catch the purse, but when he was finally clutching it to his chest like a shield, he backed towards the trees without so much as a glance toward his fallen companions. He was jarred to a stop when his back struck the barrier. "Merlin," Arthur warned. "Let him go."

The magic in Merlin's eyes raged, desperate for blood and Arthur knew he wasn't going to let Drest go.

Wen reached over and took Merlin's hand. "I'm all right," she soothed. Arthur could only watch with some small degree of envy as once again she put down the storm of magic inside Merlin with a single touch and the barrier fell. Drest bolted the second the wall came down and Wen crawled over to Merlin as the light in his eyes finally faded, his shoulders slumping, exhausted. Wen pressed her face to his chest and hugged him, Merlin rocking her back and forth, but it looked more like she was comforting him than the other way around.

"You came back," she whispered and Arthur can hear the smile in her voice.

"You're my daughter."

Feeling out of place Arthur made to stand but Wen's hand shot out toward him, imploring him.

"Stay, please?"

Arthur glanced off into the trees, still feeling like he was intruding before stepping into reach, letting Wen pull him down beside her. She wedged herself between them, reaching for another piece of rabbit.

Merlin offered Arthur a tentative smile, looking down at the toasted meat in his hands. "Seems a shame to waste it. And the camp's already made."

Still rattled, Arthur tried to smile. He didn't relish the thought of riding back to Camelot in the night. "I think Camelot will be fine without me for one night." He reached out and tore off a piece, chewing mechanically, barely tasting it. Merlin doesn't breach the topic of what just happened and Arthur knew a certain amount of needling would open him up, but let's it rest instead. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but Merlin would tell him when he was ready. Or Arthur would bother him until he did, but not now, not tonight.

"What about them?" he asked, pointing towards the two men still lying unconscious on the ground.

Merlin's eyes flicked over to the two thugs. "They'll wake up eventually. I'll make sure they leave when they do."

Arthur nodded, still a little discomforted by Merlin's earlier determination to take Drest's life. "Unharmed right?"

Merlin nodded. "Unharmed," he amended.

Oddly comforted Arthur ate the meat with more zeal than before, realizing how hungry he was and a comfortable silence fell around them. Wen broke if a few minutes later after Merlin brushed Arthur's arm behind her back, a quiet question, asking if he was all right while reassuring him that while he didn't want to talk about it, for the moment he was okay. Wen's grin was absolutely wicked when she caught them staring at each other.

"So are you going to kiss him yet?"


	12. Chapter 12

Merlin laid staring at the sky, his barriers firmly in place to prevent anyone from stumbling over their stolen camp while they slept. He'd opened a small passage to allow Drest's men to leave, his magic sealing the way behind them. Now the camp sat empty save for themselves and Merlin was left with his thoughts. 

It was so odd being back. He'd been running away for so long it felt strange to be in one place, knowing he wouldn't have to pack up in the morning and move on. He'd missed it, both Camelot and that sense of belonging. Missed Arthur. More than he'd thought. He stroked Wen's hair idly as she slept, tucked against his side. It had been a lonely trek, but worth it in the end. 

"Can't sleep?"

Merlin turned to look at Arthur as he spoke. He hadn't known he was awake. "No," he whispered back. "You?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Take a walk with me?" Merlin asked. Arthur glanced at Wen, sleeping soundly, afraid Merlin's departure would wake her. "She'll be fine," Merlin assured him, following his gaze. 

Arthur finally nodded and Merlin carefully extricated himself, covering Wen with a blanket before he led Arthur away from the glow of the fire. 

"Isn't she...vulnerable, out there in the open like that? I don't want her to wake up and freak out because you're gone." His eyes flicked between Merlin and Wen. "She's had enough trauma in her life, let alone today. I don't want to add to it."

Merlin shook his head, a smile pulling at his mouth. "There are barriers in place all around the camp. No one will come within five miles of us. She's safe." They both glanced back at her one last time before moving deeper into the trees. "Thank you though, for asking," he said. "For caring."

"How could I not?"

They walked side by side, Merlin leading them in a slow circle around the camp, far enough away they couldn't see the banked coals from the fire through the trees and their wandering wouldn't wake Wen. They bumped shoulders occasionally, a careful touch guiding Merlin around a tree root Arthur seemed to know instinctively he would trip on otherwise, Merlin lifting a branch out of the way so they could walk through the growth, always managing to stay side by side. In the silence they fell back into a sort of familiar rhythm, one Merlin had ached for over the years. 

"What's bothering you?" Merlin finally asked after they'd walked in silence for several minutes, but Arthur shook his head, ready to deny it. 

Merlin laughed and after the stress of the past day it felt good. "I may have been gone for a few years Arthur, but I still know you. You can never sleep when something's bothering you. And I can still tell when you're lying," he said lightly.

"Yes, and you used to just let it go," he scolded. "I am a King in case you've forgotten," he accused, wagging his finger at Merlin. "You can't just call me out on my lying." He used the gentle tease to try and deflect the conversation but Merlin pinched his sleeve, tugging him to a stop. 

"Come on," he coaxed, "talk to me. What's wrong?"

Arthur hesitated, studying Merlin's face for any clues on how to proceed but found none. "I don't want to push," he ventured, "and I can wait if you need time, but, earlier. Are you-?" He rubbed at one palm with a tumb before letting his hand drift out, as if to test if Merlin were really there. "Are you all right?" It's not the question he wanted to ask but it was all he could manage. 

Merlin's eyes shuttered and Arthur knew he shouldn't have asked. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-" he stumbled over the words in his haste to backpedal. 

Merlin touched his arm to stop him and Arthur's mouth snapped shut, the silence awkward and lingering. It took Merlin a moment to say anything. 

"It's all right," he breathed. "You need to know." He took a deep breath, nodding to himself a bit to bolster his courage. "I'm fine, it's just, a lot has changed," he said, knowing it wasn't enough to explain everything that needed saying. There was just so much. "Some of it not for the better."

"I don't believe that," Arthur denied fiercely and Merlin was surprised by the force in his voice. It brought a sad, fond sort of smile to his face.

"You will," he muttered, more to himself than Arthur. He looked back at Arthur, his voice more firm. "And I promise I'll tell you, I just- need some time." He redirected the conversation away from the one thing he couldn't bring himself to talk about, trying to lighten his tone and bring the conversation back to Arthur. "But that's not all that's bothering you."

Merlin's fingers twisted themselves together in knots in the face of Arthur's silence, his smile faltering. Dread and doubt crept into his mind and he looked down at his hands. "If it's because of my magic, I can leave. I know we haven't had a chance to talk about it, about what happened, but if you want I can leave." Arthur reached out and touched Merlin's fingers, catching them between his own, stopping them from twisting about. 

"No, it isn't that." They both stared down at their hands, Arthur's thumb stroking at Merlin's fingers, neither quite willing to meet the other's eyes. Arthur never was very good at expressing what he was feeling. His father had viewed emotional intimacy as a weakness after the loss of his wife and even now after all the time Arthur had spent married to Gwen, it was difficult for him. 

"I want you to stay," he whispered. He glanced up at Merlin from under his eyebrows. "But I'd be lying if I said what I saw tonight didn't frighten me Merlin." He searched Merlin's eyes intently and wasn't surprised to see the pain his words inflicted. 

"For what it's worth," Merlin whispered, "I would never direct that rage at you. I couldn't." His gaze was fierce, strongly contrasting the tenderness in his voice, his throat tight. "I use my magic for you Arthur, I always have. I think that was always meant to be its purpose. You will never be in any danger from me or from my magic," he swore. "You never were. I give you my word on that, useless as it may be." 

"Your word isn't worthless Merlin, it never was. I just- I feel like I have to get to know you all over again." Guilt made Merlin pull away but Arthur tightened his grip on his hand, refusing to let go. "And I want to," he insisted. "But this time the decision to stay is yours." He bit at the inside of his lips as Merlin glanced up, his courage flagging. "If you want to take Wen and go," he said, "you're free to. You owe me nothing." He released Merlin's hand and took a half step back, straightening his shoulders, his defenses falling firmly into place out of habit. "Not as a King and not as a friend," he finished. 

Merlin followed him that half step, refusing to let Arthur put up his walls, to let him shut down. He wanted Arthur to know, needed him to know, how desperately he wanted to stay. "I owe you everything," he said, "though I never expected to. You helped shape me as a person. Knowing you has made me a better man than I ever thought I could be." He ducked his head to catch Arthur's eye when he looked away. 

"You give me something to believe in, to fight for. You always have, whether you believe it or not." He reached out and took Arthur's hand again. 

"You are my king and my friend. No matter what happens. You always will be. 

"I didn't leave because I wanted to," he insisted gently, "not really. Part of it was out of spite, I admit that, but in the end I left because you asked me to." He paused, afraid to go on. "If you want me to stay all you have to do is ask. It's all you've ever needed." He shrugged, embarrassed. "I'm yours." 

Arthur squeezed Merlin's fingers, the gesture saying more than his words ever could. He steeled himself, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to look up and meet Merlin's earnest gaze. "I'd like you to stay Merlin," he said and there was nothing but sheer determination in his voice. "As more than a friend. I'd like to start over." Merlin threaded their finger together in response, a small smile on his face. He couldn't help but feel like they were twining the frayed bits of their destinies back together again and his heart lifted at the thought. 

"You remind me of who I am," Arthur went on, "and who I want to be and when I lose sight of that- when I'm lost- I need you." His throat closed around the words and he struggle to go on. " I need you to guide me. And I didn't realize how much until you were gone." Arthur tripped over his words and fumbled to a stop but Merlin gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I'd like that."


End file.
